


The Problem with Propriety

by chasingriver



Series: Molly Discovers Her Submissive Side [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Collars, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub, F/F, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Spanking, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-07 05:27:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/744792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly visits Irene for another session.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>    <img/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Rough Day at the Morgue

**Author's Note:**

> This story directly follows [Not Usually My Sort of Thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/725009).  
> Beta: deklava  
> Cover art by moonblossom.

She sent me home, that first day, desperately turned on. I would have begged for release if she’d let me - if I thought there existed even a remote possibility that I’d get it. But even then, I knew better.

“I want you to go home and masturbate,” she ordered. “Tomorrow, I want every detail.”

“Yes, Miss Adler.”

It had taken all my willpower not to rub myself against the pole in the train on the way home. My heart pounded in my chest, and the persistent throb in my groin had morphed into an almost-ache. I shifted from one position to another just to get some friction from my trousers.

I practically sprinted from the station to my flat, keys fumbling in the lock in my desperation to get inside. I slammed the door behind me and tugged at my trousers and shirt; I’d shed them both by the time I reached the bedroom. I don’t know why I waited that long - an odd sort of propriety I suppose. I could have just as easily braced myself against the wall of the living room and rubbed myself into a frenzy.

Still wearing my bra and my knee socks - the height of sexiness, I’m sure - I collapsed onto the bed and shoved my pants down around my knees. Two fingers flew to my clit and images of myself, kneeling at her feet, did me in almost immediately. I dug my feet into the mattress and arched off the bed as I came, biting my other wrist in an attempt to keep quiet as I rode out the aftershocks.

I collapsed back onto the bed, trembling a bit.

Well.

That had been enlightening.

I hadn’t had an orgasm that good in weeks. Months, actually. And without a vibrator, even.

I lay there in a dopamine haze and considered the events of the previous week. My first reaction to her presence in the morgue had bordered on panic. Now though, I saw the entire situation with stunning clarity. The sense of relief I’d felt when I dropped to my knees in front of her: I craved that far more than any sort of sexual release. I’d been able to get myself off for years, but I rarely felt this satisfied.

I drifted off into a doze, immensely glad I’d set up another appointment for the following day.

* * *

The next day at work was a special sort of hell; she’d instructed me to forgo underwear, and it made me hyper-aware of my body. It wouldn’t have been so bad if I’d been able to work alone all day, but today, of all days, it seemed like half the Met was milling around the morgue, pestering me about some case or other.

To make matters worse, Sherlock stopped by in the afternoon to find out if I had any body parts he could play with. Perform research on. Whatever.

“Molly,” he said as he breezed through the door. “Anything new for me?”

I reverted to my normal Sherlock-state: meek panic.

“Um, yes. Well, a bit. I got some new cultures back from pathology in the Jameson case. They look interesting. And I managed to, um, keep an extra slice of the brain from the one where we had to dig the bullet out of the skull.”

“Fantastic!” He paused and squinted at me. “You’re not wearing any pants,” he said, seeming mystified.

I turned bright red and hurried over to the fridge.

“You’re not, are you…” he pressed, following me. “Why? You didn’t know I was coming today.”

I whirled around, furious and hurt. “It’s not all about you, you know!”

He took a step back. “No, of course it isn’t,” he mumbled. It was more of an apology than I’d come to expect from him, but it was too little, too late.

He still wore a curious look on his face, but I wasn’t about to slake his appetite for gossip. I handed him a plastic bag with the samples. “Anything else?” I asked, stone-faced.

“No,” he replied as his eyes scanned me once again, no doubt searching for more information.

I was fairly sure even _he_ wouldn’t figure this one out.

His eyes stopped moving. I followed his gaze to my wrist and saw the faint bruising from the bite-mark. I tugged the sleeve of my lab coat over it. Too late. Pointless.

My cheeks burned as I wondered what must be going through his mind. Most domestics didn’t end in bitten wrists. It seemed evident - to me at least - that this was either sexual, or self-inflicted, or both.

I kept my eyes on his, daring him to say something, but all I got was a faint lift of his brows.

“Right,” he said, all business. “Can’t let this warm up or it’ll go straight to mush.” And with that, he swept out of the morgue, leaving me mortified and furious.

* * *

I couldn’t shake off my utter rage with him that afternoon. How dare he? I never made comments on whether or not the entire Met thought he was sleeping with John. (They did.) My mood coloured everything, and I must admit I sawed Mr Steiner’s chest open with a rather vicious doggedness he didn’t deserve, poor man.

On the tube ride to Miss Adler’s apartment, my rage gave way to despondency. How could I let him affect me so much? It was pathetic. Tears started to form and I roughly brushed them from my eyes; I didn’t want to show up for my appointment puffy-faced and miserable. I’d been desperate to see her again since the second I’d left her townhouse the previous day, but my mood - no, _Sherlock_ \- had ruined everything. Bastard. It was obvious he’d never be interested, but why did he have to be so _cruel_?

I walked to her flat, almost grateful for the biting wind that would excuse the state of my eyes.

By the time I got there, my nose and ears stung from the cold. The townhouse glowed with a pleasant warmth though, and Kate took my gloves and coat while I waited in the entrance hallway. When she showed me up to the bedroom, I couldn’t tell if my face burned from the change in temperature or in anticipation of what lay ahead.

My feelings regarding the run-in with Sherlock hadn’t completely disappeared, but being here soothed them. Or perhaps it just replaced them with nervous excitement.

Kate led me up to the bedroom and instructed me to strip and then kneel until Miss Adler arrived.

I cast my eyes about the room as I waited, trying to distract myself from my situation. It would be easier to clear my mind once she was here - I could wilfully obey her orders and allow myself to be caught up in them - but my brain had far too much free reign like this. It focused on things I didn’t want to be reminded of: I was naked, kneeling on the floor of a stranger’s bedroom, and paying for the privilege. That I felt almost deliriously happy about this made my situation seem even more ill-advised.

The windows: she must have had them replaced, or it wouldn’t be so warm in here. That sofa probably cost more than all the furniture in my flat, twice over. The walls are a lovely shade of yellow. I wonder what my skin would feel like on those bedsheets.

Well, that method of distraction just backfired rather spectacularly.

I heard her ascending the stairs and felt her presence in the doorway behind me.

“Hello, Miss Hooper.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Adler.”

I stayed in position and waited until she moved in front of me to take in her appearance. She wore a black sheath dress, just as form-fitting as the previous one, with a string of pearls and matching earrings. Stunning. The black really set off the pale colour of her skin. Breath-taking. Literally.

I forced myself to breathe through my nose.

She regarded me curiously. “Are you all right, Miss Hooper?”

“Yes, Miss Adler. I’m just… glad to be here.”

“So it would seem,” she replied with satisfaction. She sat on the sofa in front of me and crossed one leg over the other.

The position afforded me a tantalising view of the tops of her stockings and the suspenders that held them in place. My breath caught in my throat and I had to swallow.

She gave me a victorious smile - nearly identical to the one Sherlock used when he’d deduced something correctly.

I made the connection and felt sick.

She must have seen it in my face, because a look of concern replaced her smile. “What is it?”

“Nothing, Miss Adler.” I wasn’t going to let my run-in with Sherlock ruin this.

“Don’t lie to me, Miss Hooper.” Her voice was surprisingly soft. She stood and retrieved a dressing gown from a wardrobe and draped it over my shoulders. “Put this on and sit here with me.”

I did as she said and nervously perched on the sofa next to her.

“I’m sorry,” I started as I hugged my arms to my chest, “it was just a bad day at work.”

“It wasn’t your work that bothered you.”

I had no idea how she figured that out.

I shook my head. “No.”

“What, then?”

I turned to look at her and gave her a cynical smile. “Well, you’ve met Sherlock.”

“Oh, God,” she muttered. “What did he say, exactly?”

“He figured out I wasn’t wearing any pants and implied that it was because of him. And he saw the bruise on my wrist.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “But I did tell him that not everything was about him,” I added, desperately, blinking back the beginnings of tears. “He even sort of apologised.” I let out a rather desperate-sounding laugh. “I don’t think he intends to be so mean; he just likes showing off how clever he is.”

“He makes you feel helpless, and you wish it didn’t bother you as much.”

I nodded.

“So what made you think of him just now? Do I make you feel helpless?”

I frowned. “No. It’s… well, yes. I suppose you do. But here, I sort of want to be. With him, there’s no choice.”

“You’re never helpless when you’re here,” she said with conviction. “You understand that, right?”

I nodded. I did. I had a safeword, and I knew that I could use it. I cursed myself for being so upset.

“I’m sorry,” I said, choking the words out. “I shouldn’t let him get to me this much.”

“I think it’s understandable. I’m more concerned that I trigger you.” She rang a bell on the side table.

Kate appeared at the door a few moments later.

“Yes, Miss Adler?”

“Bring a tray, Kate.” She looked at me. “Coffee or tea?”

“Tea, please. Milk, two sugars,” I replied. I never took sugar in my tea unless I was feeling sorry for myself. I was wasting a perfectly good session with Miss Adler because I couldn’t repress my feelings about Sherlock.

“Now, my dear, we need to discuss a few more things in light of this. Did you enjoy our session yesterday?”

“Very much, Miss Adler.”

She nodded thoughtfully before she continued. “You have excellent submissive tendencies, and you certainly took to the sensation play remarkably well. However, you have issues with Sherlock - issues that I cannot address directly. I am not a counsellor.”

“No, Miss Adler,” I replied with a sigh. _Fucking Sherlock_. He always managed to bugger things up somehow. I waited for her to tell me it was over; over almost before it had started.

“The way I see it, Miss Hooper, you have three options. You can, of course, discontinue your sessions with me. You may also limit our interactions to those which do not involve control.”

She stopped, and I looked at her questioningly. “Or?”

“Or, you can be extremely communicative about any negative emotions this raises, and we can work through the issue.”

“How, Miss Adler?” I didn’t want to give this up, and I didn’t want to artificially limit what she did. If I could work through things _and_ continue…

“I believe I can re-frame ‘lack of control’ to have more positive connotations for you,” she said.

She wasn’t going to get rid of me! I sighed with relief and replied, “Yes, Miss Adler; I’d like that.”

She placed one hand gently on my arms, which I realised were still curled protectively around my chest.

“Let’s relax a little; Kate will bring us some refreshments.”

As if on cue, Kate walked in with a tea tray. As we drank tea and nibbled on chocolate biscuits, she spoke.

“When I asked you what was wrong, I presume you lied to me because you felt your concerns had no merit. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Miss Adler.”

“You must never lie to me. Answer any questions directly and truthfully, and use your safeword for any situation where you feel emotionally uncomfortable - it’s not there just for pain issues. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Miss Adler.”

“Good. You’re a smart woman. I don’t think I need to belabour the point. Now, are you ready to continue?”

“Yes, Miss Adler.”

“Very well. Remove the dressing gown and kneel in front of me.”


	2. A Good Old-Fashioned Spanking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly discovers the twin joys of spanking and bondage.

I put my unfinished tea on the side table and lowered myself to my knees, placing my hands in my lap.

“Good. Shoulders back, chin up. We’re going to have to work on that posture, Miss Hooper.” She retrieved what appeared to be a mass of leather and chrome from a nearby wardrobe. She spread the items on the sofa in front of me: a collar, two sets of cuffs, and a strap with hooks at each and a buckle in the middle.

I swallowed, hard. I’d seen some of those things when I’d visited a sex shop in Soho, looking for a better vibrator. Just seeing them hanging on the wall of the shop had sent me scurrying in the other direction - and now she planned to use them on me.

She ran her fingers lightly across my neck. I craned into them, like a cat, before I could stop myself.

“Hold your position,” she said harshly, pulling her hand away.

“Sorry, Miss Adler.”

“I don’t want my new toy squirming around as I examine her. From now on, you may speak only when I ask you a direct question. You can make any _sounds_ you wish, though. I suspect you’ll need to,” she added in a slightly menacing tone that both intimidated and thrilled me.

She picked up the collar and fastened it around my neck - not too tightly, but it was a very definite _presence._ I’d expected it to feel degrading, but it wasn’t. I couldn’t put my finger on how it made me feel.

She gave a quick tug on one of the rings at the back of my neck and hummed her approval. “Very nice. Black leather suits you, my dear. Now for the rest.” She picked up my wrist and traced the bruise I’d left with my teeth. “And you’re going to tell me every detail of this and of what you did last night. Don’t think for a moment that I’d forgotten.”

She buckled a cuff to each wrist. The black leather looked almost comically out of proportion on my slight arms. Any thoughts of my hands linked comfortably in my lap vanished as she said, “Arms behind your back.”

My muscles creaked a little as I pushed my shoulders back to accommodate the new position. I’d be lying if I said it was comfortable, but it wasn’t intolerable. There was no hiding my body now - the position spread my chest almost as much as when I spread a corpse’s ribs apart, and it pulled my small breasts up and to the side. My nipples betrayed my arousal; even in the warm room they were hard and begging shamefully for her attention.

I felt her snap the cuffs together. The hook between them allowed me to relax my shoulders, producing a constant, rather pleasurable tug. She cuffed my ankles and fastened them together as well.

What came next took me a second to figure out. I heard the click of more hooks, but no new sensations.

Then, I felt my body stretched back like a bow.

The strap.

She’d attached the strap between the wrist and ankle cuffs, and pulled it taut between them.

The front of my thighs started to burn almost immediately in the awkward position.

She pulled it a little tighter before she allowed it to settle back into a notch in the buckle.

“Now, Miss Hooper. You’re going to tell me exactly what you got up to last night. If you’re not being detailed enough, I’ll add some nipple clamps to help you focus. Understand?”

“Yes, Miss Adler.” Somehow, I didn’t think nipple clamps would help my concentration. “I left here and took the tube home. I was still very turned on and I considered standing by the pole, just so I could rub up against it, but I didn’t. I already felt like everyone knew exactly why I looked so flushed.”

“That’s a lot of self-restraint. Perhaps next time I should order you to bring yourself off on the way home - see if you can do it without people noticing.”

The idea. God. My brain shuddered to a halt. I don’t think I could have replied if I’d wanted to. Luckily, she kept talking.

“You’d take one of the crowded rush-hour trains, where being pushed up against that pole would attract less notice. Or one of your pretty hands shoved down your trousers perhaps… desperately rubbing at yourself while you try not to show any emotion. Do you think you could come without anyone noticing?”

She finished the question with a radiant smile.

“I… I’m not sure, Miss Adler.”

“Mm, well, at least you’re honest. Do continue.”

“I ran home from station - it’s not that far - and by the time I got there it was all I could think about. When I got inside, I didn’t even take my clothes off properly - I just sort of pulled them off as I stumbled my way into the bedroom. As soon as I got onto the bed I started rubbing my clit and thinking of how I’d felt, kneeling in front of you. I came almost immediately, Miss Adler.”

“And the bite on your wrist?”

“I was worried I’d scream if I didn’t. I haven’t come that hard in months,” I confessed. I suddenly remembered my manners and added “Miss Adler. Sorry.”

She licked the tip of one finger and delicately ran it around the edge of my nipple. I desperately wanted to squirm away - my nipples were a lot more sensitive than I remembered - but her earlier warning held me still. The bonds helped, too; the position was uncomfortable and precarious enough without squirming. The fronts of my thighs trembled a little from the strain, and I started to wish I’d gone to the gym more often.

“You’re getting better,” she said. “You only forgot to use my name once that time.” She took my nipple between her fingers and squeezed, hard.

I winced and let out a cut-off shout as the jolt of pain coursed through me. It tapered off when she let go and I breathed through it.

“Thank you, Miss Adler,” I managed.

“Good girl.” She smiled and gave my other nipple a quick squeeze.

I let out another yelp. My body swayed slightly as I tried to keep my balance.

She reached out and steadied my shoulder. “Ever tried yoga?” she asked.

“No, Miss Adler,” I replied, unsure if I should take it as a joke.

“It makes these positions easier to hold,” she replied. “But it’s merely an observation, not a requirement. I only require things if people decide to train with me.”

I desperately wanted to ask what she meant by ‘train’. I held my tongue, though; she’d said I could only respond to direct questions.

“Look at you,” she said fondly, “such a fast learner - not speaking out of turn. You’re dying to know though, aren’t you? What I meant?”

I nodded.

“Training involves becoming one of my personal submissives for a negotiated period of time. A slave. A pet. No longer a paying client.”

She gave me an arched stare, daring me to respond to her provocative language.

I met her gaze and held it, and tried to will the trembling in my thighs to stop.

“Sometimes a client shows rare promise despite a lack of experience. It can be a shame to waste that.”

I kept my eyes on her and ignored the burning ache in my shoulders. Did this mean she thought I showed promise? Why else would she bring it up? Perhaps it was just idle conversation. I usually didn’t conduct my idle conversation while naked and bound, but clearly she worked to a different standard.

“All right,” she said, lightening her tone a little, “I think a little more comfort is in order before you fall over.”

“Thank you, Miss Adler,” I said, immensely grateful for the reprieve.

She unclipped the strap and steadied me as I moved back into a vertical kneeling position. Then she unclipped my cuffed wrists and ankles.

As sore as my shoulders were, I kept my wrists behind my back. She hadn’t said I could move them.

“How do you feel?”

“Stiff, Miss Adler.” I knew better than to withhold information now.

“Mm,” she replied with a bit of a smile, “you may stand and stretch for a minute.”

I did, reaching my arms above my head and doing some side bends. The slight burn in my muscles felt marvellous. I didn’t give my nudity or my position any thought - rather surprising given my usual self-consciousness - until I noticed her glancing at my pussy. I immediately stopped.

“Do continue,” she said. “I don’t believe you were finished.”

Flushed with embarrassment, I continued, pulling my shoulders towards my chest, one at a time, to relieve the tension there. Then I put one foot forward in a runner’s stretch, working out the last of the stiffness, trying to ignore her gaze.

“We really need to work on that, you know,” she said, and I nodded in reply. “I’d never be able to show you off as my sub if you were that self-conscious.” Once again, her tone was light, but the implication was anything but.

I whipped my head towards her with a questioning look. Was this some sort of tease, or did she really think I’d be up for the challenge? She didn’t say anything else, and I wondered if this was a test. God knows every fibre of my being wanted to beg for more information.

I finished my stretching and stood in front of her, head up, shoulders back, wishing I were back on my knees. She must have read my mind.

“Kneel by the side of that ottoman, facing towards it,” she commanded.

The oversize footstool sat on a plush rug in front of one of her chairs, and I gratefully moved over to it.

She retrieved a towel from the wardrobe and laid it across the top. “I wouldn’t want to soil the upholstery,” she said with a smile. “The gag will make you drool.”

Gag?

I gulped.

“You’ve been very good about remaining silent, but I do love the way a gag distorts sounds.” She pressed a square of silk into my hand. “If you need to safeword, drop this. Spread your knees.”

I shuffled them open against the deep pile of the rug, thankful for both the traction and the softness after my previous stint on the hardwood floor.

“Wider,” she said, and slapped the inside of my thigh. God, I wanted her hand between my legs. My whole cunt throbbed, even though this promised to be an exercise in pain, not pleasure - although I’d started to wonder if my body could tell the difference.

She secured my ankle cuffs to something - a stiff bar of some sort - that kept my legs wide. She clipped my wrists together and buckled a ball gag - I’d seen one in the porn shop - into my mouth. She steadied me as she pushed my chest onto the ottoman. “Head face down: you can rest it on your arms,” she said. I was sort of glad I wouldn’t have to meet her gaze for whatever she had in mind. My arms stuck out almost comically in front of me. I felt like Superman, starring in a porn film. I just needed a cape. I giggled, but it sounded more like a wheeze around the gag.

“Are you all right, Miss Hooper?”

I nodded, glad I was gagged; I probably would have told her why I’d giggled, and that was just embarrassing.

Her hand traced the faint bumps of my spine and lingered at its base. When she took her hand away, I expected her to strike me and tensed in anticipation. I twitched as I felt her hand again - not in a slap but instead as a gentle caress along the curve of my arse. Next, her fingernails scratched lightly at my shoulders. I couldn’t see her. I didn’t know what to expect, and that seemed to be exactly what she wanted.

She grasped my ponytail and slowly pulled my head back.

“What do you think of your gag, Miss Hooper? Do you like it?”

I honestly wasn’t sure. My jaw ached and I was drooling everywhere. It was demeaning. I felt powerless. I realised at that moment that both of those things turned me on. The powerlessness I could sort of understand, but how could I get off on humiliation? Still, the proof was there, wet between my legs. “Yes, Miss Adler,” came out of my mouth as a string as vowels.

She laughed and said, “Oh, I thought you might.” She wandered away; I could hear her looking through the wardrobe for something. When she came back, she put something on the side table and then stood behind me. She ran one finger across my arse, tracing invisible patterns over my skin.

“You look exceptionally lovely on display like this, my dear. Good enough to eat.”

For a fleeting instant, I dared hope she’d go down on me.

“Unfortunately for you, I had a very filling lunch. Still, I do like to play with my food.” She smacked me on the arse and I yelped through the gag. “You’ve been a very good girl, though; very obedient. I’m inclined to give you a little treat. The question is… which one?”

I squirmed as a series of pinpricks exploded along my shoulder-blade. Wartenberg pinwheel? It must be. I’d certainly never considered using one during sex. What other trappings of medical school had I overlooked? Wait. Sex? This wasn’t sex. Was it? My body seemed to think so.

“You’re wandering. Stop it.” A firm blow landed on my arse, jolting me out of my thoughts. The saliva that had been pooling in my mouth spilt past my lips with the impact, and I grunted.

More pinpricks; this time down my spine.

“Crop, paddle, or a good old-fashioned spanking?” she mused. “I could make you scream so prettily with any of them, I’m sure.”

I didn’t doubt it. They all sounded good, quite honestly, but I really wanted to feel her hand on me again. Still, it didn’t sound like a question she wanted me to answer - not that I _could_ with the large hunk of silicone filling my mouth.

“Preference, my dear?”

Apparently, I was wrong.

I managed to get out two syllables that I thought sounded like ‘spanking’.

“Hm, a spanking? I’m sure you’d like to be over my knee for it as well.”

However did she guess? The thought of my arse in the air in _that_ position was even more humiliating. Exhilarating. Both.

“Well, I’m not going to spoil you with that, but a spanking does sound rather delicious.”

I felt a hand brace against the small of my back, and I realised this wasn’t going to be a few light slaps; this was going to be a proper _beating._ Somehow, the idea shouldn’t have been so enticing, but I wiggled my arse back towards her in anticipation.

“Mm, so eager. Let’s see how long until I have you begging through that gag.”

The first few blows hurt; I’d be lying if I said anything else. But then the pain of the following strikes was dulled by the warm buzz from the previous ones, and a desperate _want_ coiled deeper in my gut with each impact. By the time she’d reached the double digits, the ‘want’ was definitely ‘need’, and my stifled cries were interspersed with greedy moans.

“You’re enjoying this entirely too much, my dear,” she said and gave me three more hard strikes all in the same place.

The pain was almost too much to bear and I tried to squirm away. I remembered the square of silk bunched tightly in my fist, but I was determined to last through this.

Just as I thought it was over, she gave me another three, again in precisely the same location. It hurt; _God, it hurt_. It hurt so much with the last one that I couldn’t hold back, and I screamed around the gag.

“There you go… good girl,” she purred. She placed her hand, still hot from spanking me, soothingly on my shoulder, then undid the buckle on the gag.

I sucked in deep lungfuls of air and felt my arse radiating heat. It still stung, but the overt pain had receded and my pussy still throbbed and already the voice in my head begged for _more_. More of whatever this was. It was rough, and it hurt, but my God, it made me feel _alive._

I swallowed the saliva in my mouth, but it had run down my chin and my cheeks were wet from where my eyes had been squeezed shut. I’m sure my face was a mess, but I didn’t care because I knew she wouldn’t.

It took a second before I remembered my manners.

“Thank you, Miss Adler.” My jaw felt strange. Stretched.

“Did you enjoy that, Miss Hooper?”

“Yes, Miss Adler.” I said it without hesitation and I meant it. As much as it had hurt, I wanted to do it again. How could pain get me this turned on?

“Speak freely. Tell me about it.”

“It was fairly easy to tolerate until the very end, when it hurt so much I didn’t think I could stand it. But now that it’s over, it just makes me feel so alive… and turned on, and…”

After my initial rush of words, I’d suddenly lost the ability to express myself.

“Let me look at you,” she said, and pulled my head back by my ponytail. She held it firmly and examined my face.

I met her gaze, wearing the smeared saliva and tears like a medal.

“Mm, gorgeous, seeing you lose control like that. Tell me, Miss Hooper, have you ever screamed during sex before?”

I knew she didn’t consider this to be sex with a client, but knowing that she thought of pain as a sexual act resonated with me in a way I’d never thought possible. It validated the arousal burning in my gut.

“No, Miss Adler.”

“It felt good to let go, didn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Adler.” Letting go was easier when I trusted her to catch me. I’d never trusted myself; I’d _certainly_ never trusted anyone else.

I half-expected her to untie me, but instead she went over to the wardrobe. Then I felt her rub her hands over my tender buttocks, and I tensed as she teased the particularly abused area. Was she going to do it again?

“Tell me specifically what you want, Miss Hooper.”

“Anything you desire, Miss Adler,” I replied, “as long as it makes me _feel_.” I’d tasted flying and I wanted more.

She laughed as if she understood and raked her perfectly manicured fingernails across my arse. She used almost no pressure, but I instinctively pulled away from the stimulation.

She gave me a light slap on my arse - lower, where it wasn’t so tender. “Now, now, Miss Hooper, I told you not to squirm,” she said, but her tone was more playful than harsh.

“Sorry, Miss Adler; I wasn’t expecting it.”

“I’m sure you’re capable of more self-control, Miss Hooper. Would you like a chance to redeem yourself?”

“Yes, please, Miss Adler,” I begged. Of course I did - I wanted to please her, and the fact that my body wasn’t always cooperating frustrated me to no end. I would will my body into the same state of submission my mind already craved.

“Very well. Let’s see how you do.”

“Thank you, Miss Adler.”

“We’ll see if you thank me when I’m done,” she said in a voice that should have terrified me, but just left me more turned on than before.

She unfastened my ankle cuffs from whatever held them apart. “Stand up, then sit on the very edge of the ottoman and lie back. Let your arms hang back above your head, and place your feet on the ground, spread apart like they were before.”

The wrist cuffs made my movements awkward, and I hissed slightly as my tender arse touched the towel, but soon I was flat on my back, once again spread out for her to see.

This time, though, it was worse. I could see every movement of her gaze as she took in my body: my skin that never saw the sun, my too-skinny legs and tiny breasts, and my pelvic bones that jutted up so obviously in this position. I remembered why I liked to have sex with the lights off, and I stared unblinkingly at the ceiling as she took me apart with her eyes.

“You’re going to have to stop that,” she said in a firm voice.

“Sorry, Miss Adler.” I suppose I wore my shame rather obviously.

“I’m not going to let you be ashamed of who you are. If I have to, I’ll make you kneel here naked for every session until you get used to the idea that your body is as beautiful as your mind. You weren’t thinking about it while I spanked you, were you?”

“No, Miss Adler.”

“Look at me.”

I peeled my eyes away from the plaster ceiling decoration.

“You need to appreciate your body - which is quite lovely, aesthetically - for everything it does. Not the least of which,” she added, “is its wonderful response to pain. She pinched one of my nipples.

I practically glued myself to the ottoman in an attempt not to squirm away from the delicious pain and moaned, despite myself.

“See? Quite the little pain slut, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Miss Adler,” I replied, mentally trying the phrase on for size and deciding it fit. I think I blushed a little.

Normally if someone had called me a ‘slut’, I would have either slunk off to a corner or hurled verbal abuse, depending on how much I’d had to drink. Nobody ever _had_ , of course - and given my lack of social skills it seemed unlikely they ever would - but I imagined one of those things would be my response. But she’d called me a ‘pain slut’, which didn’t feel demeaning in the least. She’d said it fondly, and it made me rather warm and happy to have those words applied to me. They seemed oddly fitting - my body craved every touch and sensation she bestowed upon me.

She took the Wartenberg pinwheel (I’d been right) and ran it in a circle around my bellybutton. Each sharp little prick felt like a small firework. I didn’t squirm, even though I wanted to writhe against the feelings it sent across my skin.

She smiled at my lack of movement. “Good girl. Hold still.” She played with it all over the front of my body, circling my breasts, torturing my nipples, leaving what I imagined was a topographic map drawn into my skin.

“Have a look,” she said.

I lifted my head and smiled. It was really quite lovely - long flowing lines of faint, red dots - as if someone had decorated my skin for Christmas.

“See? Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

I nodded and rested my head back on the ottoman.

She ran her hand across my pubic area. Her fingers barely touched me, and I just wanted to thrust my hips up into her hand, but I didn’t.

“You learn so quickly. Now, do you always keep yourself trimmed like this?” She ran one finger down my close-cropped pubic hair - slowly, achingly slowly.

I think I stopped breathing.

Her finger finally stopped, nestled between my labia, directly over my clit. Her hand was cool on my skin.

“Yes, Miss Adler,” I managed. Barely.

_Don’t move don’t move don’t move._

“Have you ever been waxed?”

I shook my head, no longer trusting myself to say anything at all. Besides, I was biting my tongue.

She just smiled. “Well, my dear, another time perhaps. I think you’d enjoy it.” She curled her finger slightly and dragged it across my clit as she pulled her hand back towards my stomach.

I closed my eyes and must have had a pained expression on my face, because she said, “Oh, come now, I know _that_ doesn’t hurt.”

I shook my head and tried to calm my breathing. God, I was so turned on.

“Look at you… so desperate. Not desperate enough though - not yet.”

She went to the wardrobe, and came back with a vibrating dildo. “If you come, I’ll cane you so hard you won’t be able to sit for a week.”

Was that supposed to be a threat or a promise? It sounded terrifying and yet I almost wanted her to, just so she’d make me scream again. It had given me such a rush before. She made no move to untie me; was _she_ going to use the vibrator on me? I was still flat on my back and my arms were cuffed uselessly above my head.

She turned the toy on and pressed it against my cunt. Without thinking, I arched off the ottoman and clamped my legs tightly around it to try and keep it there.

She slapped my thigh, hard. “If you can’t hold your position, I suppose I’ll have to do it for you.”

The next thing I knew, she’d buckled wide leather cuffs just above my knees, and pushed my legs uncomfortably wide to attach a spreader bar between them. I felt impossibly open and exposed; I knew she could see how wet I was. She grabbed the bar and pulled me closer to the edge of the ottoman.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?”

Once again, she pushed it against me, this time right against my clit. I was already so turned on and sensitive that the direct stimulation was too much. I tried to squirm away - to spread the vibrations more diffusely - but she just followed every move. The spreader on my legs made it impossible to avoid.

I couldn’t tolerate it for long. “Please, Miss Adler, God. Stop, please. Too sensitive,” I choked out.

“You took the pain, you can take this. Call safeword if you can’t.”

Oh, God, I hadn’t thought of pleasure as torture. If anything, coping with the pain was much easier than this. Worse still, I felt my body winding up towards an orgasm that would probably leave me screaming. She’d ordered me not to come: I didn’t know if I could manage not to.

“Please, Miss Adler… going to come like that.”

“I know,” she said with a vicious smile.

White noise rushed through my head and I struggled to focus. “You told me not to. I’ll take the caning, but I don’t want to disobey…”

Immediately, she removed the vibrator and I felt utterly relieved that I wouldn’t disappoint her, even though my orgasm backed off into the distance.

“Thank you, Miss Adler,” I said with a sigh.

“Such a good girl, obeying orders. I have something special for you.”


	3. A Reward for Good Behaviour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> White noise rushed through my head and I struggled to focus. “You told me not to. I’ll take the caning, but I don’t want to disobey…”

I thought for a second that she’d cane me, but she hiked up her dress and I suddenly realised what she intended. She wanted me to eat her, and I had no idea what to do. Well, I had some idea, of course, but no experience in the matter. I needn’t have worried; sheer excitement overcame any nervousness about my lack of skill.

She carefully positioned her knees on either side of my head and said, “Last chance to back out.”

“God, no,” I replied, forgetting to use her title. I wanted this. I wanted to please her and make her come. I couldn’t believe she’d let me do this for her.

She carefully lowered herself over my face and pure instinct replaced my trepidation. My tongue reached out to taste her, and I greedily licked at the folds of her labia, surprised to find her just as wet as I was. I moved my tongue forward to find her clit and gave it a long, flat stroke with my tongue. Her resulting moan bolstered my confidence, and I tried it again - this time flicking my tongue across it.

Her thighs twitched against my cheeks in response and I smiled. I might not have any experience, but clearly I was doing something right. I moved further back, probing deeper with my tongue; God, I loved the rich, slick taste of her. My hands clenched in frustration at their useless position above my head. I wanted to slide my fingers inside her.

Whatever exploration she’d allowed me was clearly over; she grabbed my hair and shifted on top of me so my nose pressed against her perfectly smooth pussy and her clit hovered tantalisingly above my tongue.

“Beg for it,” she commanded, her voice rough.

“Please, Miss Adler,” I cried, but apparently I didn’t need to beg much because she lowered herself onto me almost immediately, covering my chin in her juices as I licked and sucked on her in any way I thought might feel good. Her moans turned more desperate, and as she got closer to orgasm, she started almost rutting against my face. I felt her thighs tense and she clamped down hard, trapping my head between them and cutting off my air as she came, shuddering.

She took a deep, gasping breath and rested back on her heels, giving me a chance to breathe and relax my neck. I looked up at her: except for a slight blush creeping up her neck, she looked remarkably composed - well, as composed as someone can be when they’re kneeling on top of you with an expensive dress hiked around their waist.

“You’ve got talent, Miss Hooper,” she said, and her ragged voice made me just as proud as her words; my first foray into cunnilingus had gone far better than I’d expected. She climbed carefully off the ottoman, making sure not to jab me with the sharp heels of her shoes. Then she smoothed her dress back over her flawless thighs and just stood there, looking at me.

I was too distracted by the delicious ache between my legs to wonder what she was thinking. I almost jumped when she spoke.

“Still a little worked up, my dear?”

“Yes, Miss Adler. Very.” I was still flat on my back - my knees spread wide and my arms over my head. There wasn’t much I could do about it from this position.

“There are so many things I’d like to do to you,” she mused, almost to herself, and I had the fleeting notion that there might be additional meaning to the words, but I dismissed it.

She shook her head a little, as if clearing it, and moved to undo my restraints. She glanced at her watch. “I want you to masturbate on the way home. The trains will be busy at the moment. It’ll give you some cover - I don’t suppose many people will notice your hand down your trousers - but I expect you’ll have quite an audience once you get loud enough. I want you on the phone with me the entire time you’re doing it. I want to hear you come.”

My face burned at the prospect. I couldn’t decide if I was more horrified or turned on by the idea.

“Will you do that for me, Miss Hooper?”

I wasn’t sure if I could. God, I wanted to, though - just because she’d ordered me to. It was very unlikely I’d run into anybody I knew, but _fuck_ \- the idea of practically putting on a show for even a small group of strangers… it was both humiliating and ridiculously hot. It ran against every shame-ridden, introverted fibre of my being, and yet I was still considering the idea. I realised I could safe-word out of it if I wanted to, but… _oh hell._

“Yes, Miss Adler.”

She gave a small, surprised laugh. “You’re a truly remarkable woman, Miss Hooper. I won’t require you to pleasure yourself in public, though; I’d much rather watch you do it here.”

I felt a quick stab of anger dampen my lust. Why did she lead me to believe I’d have to do that?

As if reading my thoughts, she replied, “I apologise for the deception, my dear; I wanted to test your boundaries. I must say, they extend much further than I’d expected.”

Her apology, and my pride at her words, dissipated my irritation. “Thank you, Miss Adler.”

She ran a long, slim finger between my legs and held it out for me to lick. God, I was wet. My own taste mingled with hers, which still lingered in my mouth. Delicious.

“Now, would you like to do something about this? I must say, I’m dying to see you come.”

“Please, Miss Adler,” I begged, not caring that I sounded so desperate.

She sat in the chair next to the ottoman and nodded. “You’ve earned it. Come whenever you wish.”

An image struck me and went straight to my gut; I had to ask. “Miss Adler, may I request something?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Will you attach a leash to my collar and hold on to it while I get myself off? I… I like being restrained.”

She gave me a dazzling smile and purred, “Oh, I think that can be arranged.” She went over to the wardrobe and returned seconds later with a leather leash which she clipped to the front of my collar.

“Alright, _pet_ ,” she said, emphasising the word, “come for me.” She wrapped the leash around her hand and pulled it tight; the pressure against my neck felt wonderful.

I sat at the edge of the ottoman, facing her, and my hand flew to my groin. I groaned loudly at the sweet friction I’d sought for ages. I pressed my other hand on top of the first, increasing the pressure, and dragged them up over my swollen labia and clit, angling my hips up into it. I caught a brief glimpse of her watching me before I completely gave myself over to the sensations, closing my eyes and focusing on that bright warmth between my thighs. I’d been so wound up for so long that it didn’t take much, my thighs tensed and waves of pleasure washed over me as I threw my head back. Even as my orgasm pulsed through my body and my brain went to fuzz, the collar reminded me that she was part of this.

All thoughts of posture gone, I rested my forearms on my knees and dropped my head to catch my breath. A glimpse of the now-slack leash reminded me where I was, and I sat up straighter.

“You have my permission to slouch, Miss Hooper,” she said with a tone of amusement.

“Thank you, Miss Adler,” I replied, still a little breathless.

She stood and retrieved the dressing gown I’d worn earlier and draped it over my shoulders. Then she rang the bell for Kate while she unbuckled my collar.

I must have sat there in a bit of a stupor, because I felt her help me into it - guiding my arms through the sleeves. When I stood - on rather shaky legs - she placed her hands on my shoulders. “How are you doing?” she asked, quietly.

I was finding it hard to concentrate. All I could focus on was the scent of her perfume and the lovely texture of her hair. I nodded. Probably not a very coherent answer, but she seemed to understand.

“Come on, let’s sit down,” she said, guiding me to the sofa.

Kate arrived with a fresh tea tray. She smiled kindly at me, and I wondered what I must look like - probably fairly debauched.

I put more sugar in the tea than I ever normally would and relished the sweet hot taste of it. It helped me to think more clearly. I downed the first cup, and almost immediately poured myself a second. Miss Adler sipped her own tea and made no comment. I started eating one of the chocolate biscuits, amazed at how _good_ it tasted. By the time I’d poured my third cup, I felt more normal.

“Better?” she asked.

“Yes. Thank you, Miss Adler.”

“You may speak freely, Miss Hooper. Did you enjoy what we did today?”

“Very much.”

“What, in particular, did you like?”

“Well, um, everything really. The pain, the bondage, the… um…” I wasn’t sure how to phrase it - should I be clinical? “Eating you.”

She smiled. “I’m glad. Do you want to continue our sessions?”

“Yes, Miss Adler. I’d really like that.”

“What else do you want to explore?”

My mind reeled. I wasn’t really sure of the options. “Um, I don’t honestly know. I’ve liked everything we’ve done so far.” Then my mind flashed on the twin feelings of shame and arousal as my arse had been on display for her. Even now, thoroughly fucked-out, it made my breath quicken. “Well, there is something,” I said. I suddenly felt shy.

“Go on.”

“Well, I’ve never done anything, um, with my arse.” I waited for her to laugh or react in some way but she just nodded. “I don’t know if I’d like it, but the idea turns me on.”

“Anything else?”

“Whatever you think would be appropriate. I… I really just want to submit to you. I’m not sure what limits I really have, and I haven’t done enough to know what I want. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific.”

“That’s quite all right,” she said, and smiled gently. “I don’t expect you to have a list.”

She looked at me quite intently for a few moments before she continued.

“There’s something I’d like you to consider, Miss Hooper.”

Oh, God. Was it possible?

“I’m interested in training you as my personal submissive. You’d no longer be a client; within negotiated parameters, you’d be mine, to use and instruct as I wish.”

I felt a little dizzy as my mind focused on the word ‘use’, and I clutched my teacup in a death grip. Yes. God, yes. I wanted to drop to my knees right there and agree.

“You have a lot of potential,” she continued, “and I’d like to nurture that. I don’t want an answer now; I’d just like you to consider the idea. If you think you’re interested, we’ll meet and discuss the details, and you can make an informed decision after that.”

I nodded, barely able to believe what I’d just heard. “Thank you, Miss Adler. I’d like that very much,” I stammered.

She smiled. “I’ll contact you tomorrow; if you’re still interested we can set up a time to meet. If you change your mind, it won’t affect any sessions you choose to have with me. You understand that, right?”

I nodded.

“Good. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” She stood up to leave, and then turned around. “Oh, Miss Hooper…”

“Yes?”

“The next time Sherlock says something rude, just tell him that you know why he owns that riding crop. I’m sure he’ll be more careful with his ‘observations’ after that.”

I stared at her with my mouth open. Had he…?

“No,” she replied, answering my unspoken question. “He’s never been a client, but some people are particularly easy to read - and you, my dear, have far more potential than he ever would.” She beamed at me, and I think I might have glowed. “I’ll be in touch Miss Hooper.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover for The Problem with Propriety](https://archiveofourown.org/works/751025) by [moonblossom graphics (moonblossom)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonblossom/pseuds/moonblossom%20graphics)




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